Case of the Curious Crystals: Lucky Lexie Mysteries, #2

By Shanna Swendson

Small-time Crime, Big-time Danger

 

Of all the crimes to plague the idyllic small town of Stirling Mills, Texas, Lexie Lincoln never expected jewelry theft. But thieves are breaking into local homes, stealing cheap costume jewelry and stirring up paranoia. When a ghost suggests that the jewelry may be more valuable than anyone realizes, Lexie finds herself delving into forgotten chapters of the town's strange history.

 

It seems the jewelry might actually be valuable to those with the ability to use its power, and that poses a real danger as the crimes escalate. Lexie needs to track down the thieves before they can use the gems for nefarious purposes—and before the town tears itself apart with fear and suspicion. She can't exactly tell local cop Wes Mosby that she's getting hot tips from ghosts, so it's up to her to crack the case, stop the thieves, and foil their sinister agenda in time to save the town's spring festival.

 

Another Lucky Lexie mystery by the author of the Enchanted, Inc. series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shanna Swendson
• Release date: Oct 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393359524

Shanna Swendson

Shanna Swendson earned a journalism degree from the University of Texas and used to work in public relations but decided it was more fun to make up the people she wrote about, so now she’s a full-time novelist. She lives in Irving, Texas, with several hardy houseplants and too many books to fit on the shelves.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

After only about a month in Stirling Mills, the town was already living up to all my hometown fantasies. I went to all the local events, was a regular at a couple of downtown restaurants, and knew most of the people I saw around town. I was part of a community in a way I’d never been before during my nomadic life. I had to admit to a thrill as I arrived at the town’s fanciest restaurant to be guest of honor at a Civic League luncheon. It seemed that being the town’s newspaper editor made me something of a local VIP.

I’d dressed for the occasion in a vintage 1940s suit that made me look like a sassy girl reporter in an old movie. I realized I was mixing genres, since this event was more like something from a made-for-cable movie—one of those romances about a city girl who comes to a small town and finds herself coming to love small-town life—but the suit made me feel professional and competent, like a woman who could hold her own against anyone.

The Old Mill restaurant was in an actual old mill on the banks of the river that ran beside the town. The water wheel on the side no longer worked, but it made for a picturesque setting. The interior of the restaurant was equally scenic, with a wall of windows overlooking the river and open beams under the peaked roof. Tables had been arranged in a U shape, with a small lectern at the middle of the head table.

I approached the check-in table. Patricia Peete, one of the members of the newspaper board, sat there, wearing her signature pink. Lexie! she greeted me. Welcome. We’re so glad you could make it.

I was honored to be invited, I said, meaning every word.

She handed me a small piece of plastic with "Lexie Lincoln: Stirling Mills Gazette printed on it and magnetic fittings on the back. Wow, fancy," I said. It was just like the members’ permanent name tags.

We don’t do things halfway, she said. We’ll be getting started in a few minutes, so feel free to mingle.

I attached the name tag to my lapel and moved deeper into the room. I didn’t have a chance to feel awkward and alone because Margarita Reyes, my closest friend in the town so far, came up to me. Hey, you, she said. Good to see you here.

I didn’t know you were a member, I said.

If you own a business in this town, you pretty much have to be. Plus, this is my chance to check out the competition. Margarita ran the Mexican restaurant downtown where I ate most of my dinners out. This used to be a steakhouse straight out of the seventies, the kind of place your parents went on date nights—you know, iceberg lettuce with Thousand Island dressing, steak, loaded baked potatoes, maybe creamed spinach if you wanted a vegetable, and baked Alaska as a fancy dessert. But they’ve got a new chef who’s apparently shaken things up. I hear he’s doing some interesting dishes, but don’t expect to see any of them today. They’re catering to the crowd that thought the way this place used to be was the epitome of fine dining.

It does look like a good setting for a date, I said, noticing the tables on the deck outside and the strings of tiny lights draped from the eaves. I could imagine the deck being really romantic at night.

She sighed. I wouldn’t know. I run a restaurant so I don’t get out much at night. I don’t remember my last date. But what about you? I seem to have seen you in my place most weekends—alone.

Hey, I’ve been in town for maybe five minutes. I haven’t had a chance to meet anyone. That wasn’t entirely true, and one of the single men I knew approached us even as I spoke.

Lexie! Good to see you here, Jordan Randall said. He was a software millionaire—billionaire on a good day in the stock market—who’d returned to his hometown after selling his company. He was trying to revitalize the little central Texas town by restoring the historic downtown and bringing in artists and businesses, so I wasn’t at all surprised to see him at a Civic League meeting. Greetings to our guest of honor.

I think they’re just being nice to the newcomer, I said, trying to sound casual, like I was a guest of honor all the time.

It’s important for the civic and business leaders to get to know the new newspaper editor, he said. You hold one of the most important positions in town.

We didn’t get a chance to chat because more people came over to meet me. Even with the aid of name tags, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to remember all the names and match them with faces and with the businesses they represented since I was meeting them all at once.

It wasn’t merely business leaders here, as I realized when a stout man in a police uniform came up to me and shook my hand. I don’t believe we were properly introduced, he said. Chief Porter. Stumbled over any dead bodies lately? He laughed at his own joke.

Just the one, but I took care of finding the murderer for you, so that’s okay. Coming across the body of the former editor who was supposed to interview me for the job had been an interesting way to start my tenure in town.

He flushed bright red and laughed again, this time his laugh sounding forced. Yes, well. The league president tapping the microphone at the lectern to suggest that everyone find a seat so the lunch could begin saved me from the awkward moment.

A tall, sturdy-looking woman in a floral dress approached me. Lexie? Hi, I’m Marybeth Winston, the league secretary. Would you like to come take your seat? She escorted me to a place at the head table and sat beside me. A salad was already at each place, along with glasses of iced tea and water. Once we were seated, Marybeth passed the bread basket to me, and I took a roll. She let me eat a few bites of my salad before asking, How are you liking small-town life so far? I bet it’s really dull compared to Dallas.

Well, I did start out with a murder investigation, I said.

And you solved an old case, while you were at it.

But it’s all good news since then, I said. That’s a nice change of pace. I never would have believed it before, but it really was. I enjoyed the chance to write about the bright side of life instead of spending my time delving into the darker side of humanity.

She frowned. Then you must not have heard of the crime wave.

My fork full of salad froze halfway to my mouth as my contented little bubble burst. Crime wave?

There’s been a rash of break-ins in my neighborhood. Nothing major stolen. It’s almost like they’re breaking in just to let us know that they can get into our homes. She shuddered, clearly unsettled by the thought.

No, I’ve heard nothing about that. It hasn’t been in the police blotter they send me each week.

She made a soft snorting sound and gave a sidelong glare in the direction of Chief Porter. Yes, well, hmmph.

I’ll look into it, I promised. If nothing major was stolen, then it probably wasn’t serious. Maybe it would turn out to be an amusing prank, or it would reveal someone in need of help, and the town would rally in support. That was the way it happened in movies.

After a meal of rather good chicken piccata, the league president stood and started the meeting. I took a few sips of water and ran my tongue around my teeth as unobtrusively as I could to make sure I wouldn’t have anything green sticking out when it was my turn to speak. The president introduced a teenager who’d been sitting at the other end of the head table as the town’s duchess for a neighboring town’s festival. Another girl was introduced as the league’s scholarship winner, and a third girl was recognized as Student of the Month. I took notes on the back of the notecards for my speech so I could add an item to the paper before it went to press. Then I was introduced to talk for a few minutes about the newspaper and what I hoped to do with it.

I hadn’t done much public speaking since I had to do oral reports in school, but this was easy because I felt so accepted. Thank you for having me, I began. Taking on this job has been a real change of pace for me. I never would have imagined myself working at a small-town newspaper, but it’s been the best career move I’ve ever made. I feel like I finally have a hometown, for the first time in my life. I went on to describe my childhood as the daughter of an air force officer who got a new assignment every few years. As I spoke, I noticed a shadowy figure moving through the room, wearing work clothes from about 1900, when the mill was still operating as a mill. I forced my attention back to my speech and went on to describe what I hoped to do with the newspaper, ending with an invitation to send me news or suggestions for things I needed to cover.

The applause was more than I would have expected. I even got a standing ovation. After the applause died down, the president welcomed me as a new member of the league, which explained the permanent name tag. They’d accepted me as one of their own.

I was still riding that high when I returned to the newspaper office. I’d barely sat down at my desk when a voice nearby said, Where have you been? You should know better than to take off for a couple of hours on deadline day.

I turned to see a woman perched on the corner of my desk. I managed not to flinch in surprise, though I was still getting used to her presence. Civic League luncheon, I explained. They were introducing me to the town’s business leaders, which is important for my job.

They’re still doing that on Thursdays, huh? I tried to tell them years ago that it was a bad day for me.

One of the strange things about this job was that although I had the title of editor and theoretically ran the newspaper, answering only to the board that controlled the finances, the ghost of the former editor, who hung around the office—and sometimes the apartment upstairs—still ran things from beyond the grave. Jean Jacobs had started working for the paper in the twenties, when she was in her twenties, and hadn’t let a little thing like death get in the way of editing the newspaper. While my journalistic skills had been a factor in me getting the job, my most important qualification was my ability to see and communicate with ghosts. Jean wanted to make sure her successors knew who was really in charge.

The paper’s mostly done, I said. It’s in layout, so there wasn’t anything for me to do, and I had to eat lunch, anyway.

She scowled at me. Are you wearing my clothes?

I looked down at my vintage outfit. I found these in a box in the closet. Are they yours?

Who else do you think they belonged to? I was the one who lived here when those were in style.

Do you mind? I thought it was a sharp outfit.

I was a snazzy dresser, wasn’t I? The clothes suit you, kiddo. Help yourself. It’s not as though I’m using them these days.

The phone on the desk—an old-fashioned black model—jangled and I answered, "Stirling Mills Gazette. How may I help you?"

This is Marybeth Winston; we met at lunch today, the voice on the other end said.

Oh, yes. Thank you again for having me. I hoped she wasn’t calling to nag me about that crime wave she’d mentioned. I’d barely made it back to the office, so I hadn’t had a chance to begin investigating.

Remember that crime wave I told you about?

I stifled my instinctive groan. Yes.

Well, I got home and found that they hit me. They got my neighbor and me at the same time, while we were at the luncheon.

Oh, wow, I said. Although it had been kind of nice filling a newspaper with positive news, a crime wave made a good story, one that was also of public interest, a real service to the community. Can I come over now and get the details? I might be able to fit an item in the next issue if I get it done quickly.

Yes, please, do come over and see the scene for yourself.

I took down her information, and it was hard to focus because I had a ghost leaning over me, saying, Now, that’s what we need to spice up this issue. It might even be worth holding the presses for.

My thoughts exactly, I said as I grabbed my purse and headed out.

The burglaries were in the old neighborhood near downtown, close enough that I might have walked if I hadn’t been wearing heels. As I got out of my car, a police SUV pulled up. The front door of a well-preserved Victorian home with a wraparound porch opened and a middle-aged woman came running out, just as Lt. Wes Mosby emerged from the SUV. He was a drastic contrast from his boss, tall and fit, and generally quite capable—when he wasn’t suspecting me of murder. The afternoon sun turned his auburn hair a brighter shade of red, and I was momentarily distracted. Before I could say anything to him, the homeowner reached us. I recognized her from the luncheon, though we hadn’t spoken directly. Mrs. Holtz, he said in greeting. You said you had a break-in.

Yes. I’m so glad you’re here. She turned toward me, frowning. I didn’t call the newspaper.

Wes turned to look at me. Lucky Lexie strikes again. Just happening upon a crime scene?

Before I could tell him who’d called me, Marybeth came out of the house next door and crossed the lawn toward us, a small, fluffy dog running at her side. There you are! she called out to me. I told you we have a crime wave.

Crime wave? We’ve had a few break-ins, but that’s hardly a wave, Wes said.

Is that common for this town? I asked.

We have our occasional property crime, he said with a shrug.

Marybeth said with a pointed glare at Wes, Someone is clearly after something.

I called the police, not the newspaper, Mrs. Holtz said, still frowning.

Wes turned to her. I’ll have a look. He added with a glare at me, Alone. He and Mrs. Holtz headed to her house.

Marybeth took my arm. That’s okay. I can show you what happened at my place. I wouldn’t say that anyone actually broke in. I must have left a door unlocked. But I do have something missing.

You should tell Lieutenant Mosby and make a formal report.

I don’t think he’d take me seriously. It wasn’t anything valuable. I felt my hopes deflating. If Wes wouldn’t think it was a big enough deal to investigate, I wasn’t likely to get much of a story out of it, but since I was here, I figured I might as well get whatever scoop there was. Maybe the neighbor had a bigger crime and would be more willing to talk after Wes had investigated. Two adjacent homes being burglarized at the same time was bound to make for a story, even if it was just in the crime watch column.

She took me around through the backyard to the kitchen door. The whole time, her little dog stayed quietly at her heel. It was rather eerie. In my experience, most fluffy little dogs yapped and jumped all over strangers. I wondered if she was one of the residents descended from the carnival sideshow that got stranded in this town. I’d learned that some of their acts had relied on uncanny abilities. She might have been descended from animal tamers who had a supernatural affinity with animals. They must have come in while I was out at the luncheon, Marybeth said as we reached her back door. I wouldn’t have thought to look if I hadn’t heard my neighbor yelling about her house being broken into.

What was taken?

My jewelry box, the whole thing. I don’t understand. The only value of anything in there was sentimental. There were things I inherited from my grandmother.

Once we were in her bedroom, she gestured dramatically toward a dresser with an empty space on top, where I presumed the jewelry box had been. The sight wasn’t particularly enlightening.

I might not have thought much of it if I hadn’t seen the woman dressed in a baggy, ankle length dress standing next to the dresser. She was faded and blurry enough that I knew right away she had to be a ghost. You have no idea what you’ve lost, she said.

CHAPTER TWO

Ifroze as my skin broke out in goosebumps. I still found ghosts rather unsettling, especially when they spoke to me. Yeah, I worked with Jean, but it was easy to forget that she was a ghost. In fact, she was more alive than some of the flesh-and-blood editors I’d worked with. This looked more like I’d expect a ghost to look, ethereal and spooky. Marybeth didn’t react, so either she was familiar with her home’s unearthly squatter or she didn’t see it. Her little dog stared in that direction but remained quiet.

It sounded like there might be more to this story than Marybeth knew, and the ghost could give me the scoop. Unfortunately, you can’t have a proper conversation with a ghost when other people are around without looking totally crazy. I couldn’t think of a way to get Marybeth out of the room so I could find out what the ghost meant. The best I could do was ask Marybeth the questions I wanted to ask the ghost and hope the ghost would answer.

What kind of jewelry was taken? I asked, giving the ghost a quick glance.

Oh, just some costume stuff, Marybeth said with a shrug. My family never had much money—I’m descended from the sideshow people—but it was meaningful to me.

The ghost said, That jewelry is far more valuable than you realize. It’s our heritage, a sacred trust.

It makes no sense that they’d take the cheap jewelry and not the TV or computer, Marybeth continued.

No respect for people’s property, the ghost said. In my day, we didn’t have to lock the doors.

I started to ask if she had any idea who the thief might be, but that question would sound utterly ridiculous to Marybeth, and the answer from the ghost would be useless. She looked outdated enough to have been out of circulation for decades, so she wouldn’t recognize anyone around town now.

Really, ghosts aren’t nearly as helpful as you’d think for tracking down a story. They tend to be bound to one place, and they’re usually focused on the things that matter to them, to the exclusion of all else. This ghost might not even have noticed the burglary if the thief had just taken the TV or computer. She cared about the jewelry, which might or might not have had anything to do with the reason behind the break-in.

I tried again with Marybeth. Were there any pieces in the jewelry collection that were particularly meaningful? To explain the question, I added, Sometimes it helps to put an emotional appeal in a story like this. Then people are more inclined to give tips. Some thieves have even given items back when they learned they only had sentimental value.

"It was costume jewelry that belonged to my grandmother and great-grandmothers, who came here with the sideshow. It was cheap stuff because they were poor even before the Depression. There was one necklace I used to call my diamond necklace when I was a kid, but I’m sure it was